


When the clock strikes Midnight

by Maewn



Series: Where Angels Fear to Tread (Demons Will Gladly Waltz) [7]
Category: The Conjuring (Movies)
Genre: F/M, How to turn a human into something else 101, canon typical creepiness, hinted consent issue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: The beginning of the end for one human soul caught in a demon's snare.Or the tragedy of Maria Piras as discovered by her cousin, Francesca.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A series of vignettes, chronicling both Francesca's and Maria's sides of the story.

_September 8th, 2004_

Francesca watches the moon rise, high and full above the grapevines, and sees a flash of white amidst the rows.

She winces but leaves her chair and sneaks out of the quiet house to walk down the rows of swaying vines.

Her cousin is dancing in the vineyard, her long white nightgown spinning about her like great waves of satin, gleaming in the moonlight.

“You can dance other places, you know,” Francesca says.

“But it’s so freeing out here,” her cousin says, her arms rising above her head, following the notes of a song that only she can hear. “The moon is so beautiful and the music lovely.”

“If you say so,” Francesca says.

“I do,” her cousin says happily, and shoots a bright grin at her.

Francesca has long since grown used to the grey complexion of her cousin, but she still has to stifle a flinch as the wind lifts the dark hair away, revealing horror.

Her cousin’s neck is dark with bruises, black and red against her skin, a mottled trail that covers her collarbone and disappears beneath her nightgown.

Francesca swallows hard, trying to muffle the scream that wants to escape her every time she sees the damage done, the damage that does not heal.

“It’s so quiet out here,” her cousin continues, resuming her dance, “much quieter. I like it. But it’s-“she pauses, the white gown settling to brush the grass. “It’s very dark where I am.”

Francesca shivers.

“So dark,” her cousin says, hugging herself, voice soft and fearful. “So very dark. I always told Varick that I was not afraid of it as long as he was there beside me.”

Francesca knows that Varick is dead, that his death was sudden and brutal. A robbery gone wrong, or so her mother said.

_[“It was brutal,” her mother says, shaking her head. “Just brutal. Some people…and so soon after-just terrible…”]_

There is a picture that Aunt Miri has, from Cousin Sara’s wedding, of Maria and Varick, obviously caught during a dance, as Varick is lifting Maria high while she laughs in delight.

He was a dark-haired young man with sharp features, and a slender build. They had looked happy in that moment, held forever in that snapshot Aunt Miri kept.

“So cold,” Maria says. “Please, someone, it’s so cold.”

In the space between one second and the next, she vanishes and Francesca is alone in the vineyard. 

It’s not the first time that Francesca has seen her cousin’s spirit, and nor, she thinks heavily, walking back to the house, will it be the last.

Maria is unquiet, unable to rest.

The circumstances of her death are something that Francesca has never been able to find out, as her family has been tight-lipped about the subject. Aunt Sofia has said illness, but Francesca knows that whatever had taken Maria’s life had not been illness.

At least, not a normal one. Francesca shudders at the memory of the wounds she’d glimpsed upon Maria’s throat, the claws that had gripped tight, leaving blood to trail down that astral form.

Francesca often considers her gift a curse. She doesn’t want to see the marks left on peoples’ astral forms, the wounds left by trauma and life.

Or in some cases, left by supernatural or spiritual encounters. Something had left its mark on Maria, leaving a dark, terrible stain upon her soul. 

Francesca wants to help her to her attain some peace, to guide her on. She's seen Maria almost every night since her death, dancing amidst the vineyard's rows, alone and sad.

_She will find out what happened to her, what causes her to wander the earth, another lost soul adrift._


	2. Maria I

_April 18_ _th_ _, 1993_

Maria catches sight of the Astra parked outside the shop, swears and darts back to the bedroom for her suitcase.

Mama had called the week before and had practically strong-armed her into coming with her to Italy to visit family.

Maria drags her suitcase down the stairs, past where Varick is nose-deep in another ancient-looking tome. She hopes he’s not getting back into the occult again.

“Leaving so soon?” he says from behind her, and Maria jumps, having been too preoccupied with checking the tags on her luggage to notice him slinking up.

“Yeah, Mama’s outside with the car,” Maria says. “I’ll be back in a week.”

“Mmm,” he says. The next thing Maria knows, she is pressed up against the counter, Varick’s body tight against hers, being kissed within an inch of her life.

“You’re making it very hard to leave,” she says, breathless.

He chuckles softly, nipping at her lips, tongue slick against the edge of her mouth. “Then stay,” he says, hands dipping under the back of her blouse, cold fingers pressed to her spine.

“I can’t,” Maria says, sighing as he tilts his head to kiss her neck, trailing his tongue down the blue vein there.

“ _Pity_ ,” he says, voice soft and dark like crushed velvet.

Maria sucks in a sharp breath, because god, the look in his eyes _alone_ is nearly enough to make her question the trip.

The Astra outside honks loudly, breaking the spell, and Maria pecks Varick’s lips, sliding free of his grasp. “Be back in a week,” she says, dragging her luggage after her. “I love you.”

He smiles, “Love you too.” As always, the words seem stilted, as if he’s not used to saying them, not used to giving such an intimate response.

Maria stuffs her suitcase into her Mama’s car and slides into the passenger seat.

“Darling,” Mama says, hugging her and kissing her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Mama,” Maria says, shifting the purse and other assorted bags that Mama has crammed into the area beneath Maria’s feet.

“Did you forget anything?” Mama asks, as Maria buckles her seatbelt.

“I don’t think so,” Maria says. “Why?”

Mama points to the window, towards the shop. “Your man seems to think you’ve forgotten something.”

Indeed, Varick is halfway down the steps to the car, something in his left hand.

Maria rolls down her window.

“You forgot this,” Varick says, opening his fist to show the small pendant he’d given her for her birthday the previous May.

Maria hadn’t realized she hadn’t packed it. She leans forward. “Put it on me?”

Varick smiles, ducking down to clasp the pendant about her neck. The orange blossom caught inside the glass gleams white as Maria settles it against her breast.

“You added a charm,” she notes, examining the pendant. There is a strange character etched into a tiny metal disk beside the pendant.

“For safe travels,” Varick says softly. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Maria says. “Try not to go mad from boredom while I’m away.”

Varick kisses her. “I’ll try.” He looks past her to Mama, tilting his head. “Mrs. Piras.”

“Mr. Vorster,” Mama replies. “You are treating my little girl right, yes?”

“Of course,” Varick says. He presses another kiss to Maria’s mouth and backs up as Mama starts the car and drives away.

Maria watches Varick stare after them and vanish from sight when the Astra turns the corner.

* * *

Maria falls asleep on the flight over, lulled by the soft sound of quiet conversations and the low clacking of her mother’s rosary beads.

_She’s at a party, decadent tapestries and gleaming marble floors. Ladies in elegant dresses twirl about the floor on the arms of dashing gentlemen._

_Maria feels out of place, even in the stunning dress she’s currently wearing. It billows out from her waist, swishing quietly as she moves._

_The sound of the orchestra rises, high and piping and the dancers follow the tempo, whirling about the floor on light feet._

_Everywhere she looks, Maria sees smiling, flushed faces._

“ _Are you enjoying the party?” a voice at her elbow asks._

“ _It’s nice,” Maria says, turning._

_The speaker is a slender young woman with delicate features and sharp green eyes. She looks rather out of place, wearing a simple white habit and dress._

“ _I’m Sister Irene,” she says, smiling and reaching out with her white gloved hand._

“ _I’m Maria,” Maria says. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is a nun doing at such a party?”_

_Sister Irene laughs, the sound like the rustling of many silver bells at once, sweet and joyful._

“ _I’m a friend of the host,” she confides with a mischievous grin, “In exchange for my attending, he’ll be paying for my convent’s upkeep for the next year.”_

“ _Sounds like a very good deal for the convent,” Maria says._

_Sister Irene leans in closer, “Very.” She looks towards the dancefloor. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Maria?”_

“ _I’m not a very good dancer,” Maria confesses._

“ _Oh, but it is easy,” Sister Irene says, “Let me show you.”_

_She takes Maria’s hand and grips it firmly, while guiding Maria’s other hand to her waist. She has surprising strength that Maria did not expect from such a lithe form._

“ _Right,” Irene says, “You step to a rhythm, like this, one-two-three, one-two-three,” she guides Maria around and around, “Left foot out, then bring your right foot up.”_

_Maria struggles to find her footing, and Irene ends up leading, teaching her each step with cheerful enthusiasm._

_Maria finds herself giggling as they twirl about._

_Irene is laughing, warm and sweet. The sound makes Maria’s heart skip a beat. The Sister looks so lovely in the light of the ballroom, her green eyes bright and flecked with gold._

_Maria doesn’t think she’s ever seen a woman as beautiful as her._

_They slow to a stop at last and Irene looks at her._

“ _Look at you,” she says, “Such an exquisite creature.”_

_Maria blushes. “Um-you look lovely, as well.”_

_Irene hums, bringing her hand up from Maria’s waist to stroke Maria’s cheek. “Shall we take a walk?”_

“ _Sounds great,” Maria says, and allows Irene to lead her away from the bright warm ballroom. “Where to?”_

“ _Oh, there are many places to explore,” Irene says, closing the ballroom door behind her with a decisive thud._

_They stand in a stone corridor, torches flickering along the walls._

_It is oddly familiar._

“ _Come on,” Irene says cheerfully, “I know the perfect place.”_

_Maria looks about the corridor, trying to find something that will identify why this is so familiar._

_It is then that she realizes that she is alone._

_Irene has vanished._

_At the end of the corridor, the torches flare, and go out._

_Someone is standing there, in the darkness, waiting. Maria can feel it._

_If she goes forward, they’ll be there. Whoever they are._

_Maria has a very bad feeling about this._

_Then there is something behind her. Hands resting on her shoulders. No, not hands,_ _**claws-** _


End file.
